Attack Of The Plot Bunny
by SamanthaLeigh1
Summary: There was a plot bunny at my work... stupid bunnies....


ATTACK OF THE PLOT BUNNY PART 1: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MICHELE!  
  
Harry isn't mine, if he were Michele would be getting a different birthday present... The first sentence isn't mine either, but you all knew that already....  
  
So there I was, bored out of my skull at work, when I realized that one of my coworkers, Demos (who I hope doesn't mind my using his name which I hope is spelled correctly) was looking particularly "Harry-ish". As I was contemplating this, out of nowhere, a bunny hopped past. Naturally I bent over to investigate (after all, it isn't every day a bunny is seen in the movie theatre) when it attacked!! And Bored!Harry working at the cinema was born.  
  
Me: "This is going to be the best Cinema Employee!Harry fic EVER!!"  
  
Michele: "And perhaps the only..."  
  
***  
  
The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close, a drowsy silence creeping over the Little Whinging Cinema.  
  
Inside, in its blissfully air conditioned interior, stood a scruffy looking teenage boy. Lounging against the wall, a stack of ripped tickets in his hand, Harry Potter was counting the minutes until the end of his shift.  
  
It was ironic, he thought ruefully, how eager he was to return to the Dursley's when the only reason he was here was to get away from them.  
  
Irony sucked, he decided suddenly, kicking the wall viciously.  
  
Harry paused. Irony still sucked and now his toe hurt.  
  
He glanced at the clock again and shook his head. Good Lord, was the clock running BACKWARDS? He could have SWORN the he'd only had a half hour left last time he looked at the clock, now it told him he'd still be here for another forty-five minutes.  
  
Harry took a deep breath to quel the rising, and completely inane, panic that the clock would stop and he would be stuck here forever.  
  
Perhaps this was hell, Harry mused, flipping the tickets about in his hands. Perhaps the Hogwarts Express had crashed on the way home and he had died and this was hell.  
  
Although, he had always supposed that hell would have a lot more of Draco Malfoy in leather trousers ordering him about.  
  
Why Malfoy would be in leather Harry had never questioned. Perhaps he, Harry, had a complex.  
  
With a disturbing image of leather-clad Malfy firmly entrenched in his brain, Harry frantically cast about for something to distract him.  
  
Actually doing something would probably make time pass, Harry reckoned, after looking at the clock again and discovering there were now only forty-FOUR minutes left. He eyed the men's toilets and decided he wasn't THAT desperate.  
  
Ah, his eyes lit on the stack of tickets in his hand, chronologically ordering them for no reason would HAVE to pass time.  
  
Spreading them out on the usher podium, he meticulously sorted them into little piles.  
  
Footsteps sounded behind him and he raised his head, fully expecting to hear another long whinge on how theatre this was too cold or there were rowdy teenagers in theatre that or, best of all, on how they had to use the toilets (and, of course, what they were going to DO there), get popcorn, refill their drink but they'd forgotten, lost, thrown out their ticket and could he please remember them so they could get back in?  
  
Harry was always tempted to say no, he could not remember them, he had been dropped on his head as a child (and look! He had the scar to prove it!) and had problems with his short term memory.  
  
But no, as he turned his head he saw that it was not another dissatisfied patron, but his manager, Iris.  
  
"Hello Henry." she simpered.  
  
"Harry." he corrected her, poking a finger at his name badge. He'd worked here for nearly a month, you'd have thought she'd have learnt his name by now.  
  
"I was wondering," she said, smiling as if it pained her to ask him to do something when he knew, in actuality, she reveled in it. "Are you busy?"  
  
He looked from her to his carefully placed piles of tickets and back to her again. "Yes."  
  
A scowl flitted across Iris' face. "Yes?" she echoed.  
  
Pressed up against his waist, his wand was calling to him. . . obleviate . . . impervious . . . Harry shook his head mentally. Impervious? What was wrong with his wand?  
  
He looked up at Iris, at the clock behind her head and repeated. "Yes."  
  
"Busy." she asked again, as if he'd misunderstood her question.  
  
"Very." he said emphatically, giving her a cheeky grin. "Extremely. Incredibly. Extro - "  
  
Iris wrinkled her nose and backed away. "Well, I'll let you get on it then. Ta, Harvey."  
  
"Harry." Harry muttered, watching her leave, glad that she had chosen that moment to back away as he couldn't think of any other synonoms for "very" and would have been forced to stand there, looking terribly, imperiously important and busy (a skill he had picked up from Percy) until his shift was over.  
  
Speaking of being over.  
  
Harry glanced at the clock again.  
  
Then blinked.  
  
And glanced at the clock some more. It WAS moving backwards. There was no way that time could be going THAT slowly.  
  
He eyed the wall the clock was fastened to, seriously contemplating smashing his head against it and spending the rest of his shift unconscious.  
  
"Oh Harrison..."  
  
Harry groaned. He was going to kill her. He was going to whip out his wand and kill her and he would end up serving alternating sentences in wizard and Muggle prison, but at least he wouldn't have to be HERE.  
  
"Harrison..." Iris tapped her foot against the usher podium.  
  
Harry swivled his head and did his best impersonation of Snape.  
  
It didn't faze Iris in the least. "If you're done, Harold," she waved a hand in the air above the ticket piles. "Would you like to go home early?"  
  
"Home? Early?" Harry opened and closed his mouth several times. His fish impersonation was even better than his Snape.  
  
Iris nodded. "Well, it's not as if we're very busy."  
  
Harry swept his hand across the podium, knocking all the tickets into the ticket bin on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. "Done."  
  
Iris blinked. "Done?"  
  
"Done." Harry reaffirmed.  
  
"Okay then." Iris shrugged. "See you tomorrow Herman."  
  
Ah yes, Harry thought on his way out of the cinema, he was working again tomorrow. That wasn't so bad. Only ten hours to spend with the Dursleys. Well, he corrected himself, glancing at his watch, nine hours and forty-five minutes.  
  
He could deal with them for that long.  
  
Only nine hours, forty-FOUR minutes.... 


End file.
